ToyBox Revolution
by bunny-the-exorcist-sheep
Summary: the twisted crew of WARP have done it again; broken the law. and there is nothing anyone can do to prevent the end of the world - except for maybe the crew that destroyed the universe. can they be trusted enough to put lives back into their hands, again?


Hihi! Here's the first chapter of a three-part series… This is kinda short because it's meant to be the _prologue_. Sorry if it doesn't quite cut it… Constructive feedback on this one would help greatly! O.o bunny

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How To Play

A heavy torrent of rain splattered itself along the cemented driveway under a wizened grey blanket of cloud. Light sparkled off almost every surface, giving the scene the appearance of freshly polished brass. A car eased mockingly into the drive trough a set of gigantic double gates, their metallic surface flashing as lightning raced thunder over head. Lying on the ground by the dripping brick wall were the blue and broken bodies of the night guard, the two men seemingly unawares to the trespassers, for they slept silently on through their permanent dreams.

Along the drive leading up to the pristine style mansion were two set rows of newly planted rhododendrons. They led the way in a perfect line up to the foot of the mansion, like a gang rail trailing along a red carpet. The brief flourish of lawn smelt freshly cut.

As the roar of the English Rolls Royce died, so did the headlights and the path – along with the terrible garden flanking it like a pair of owls – was thrown again into darkness. The car was parked under an old willow, concealed from the human eye by the drooping branches and the forever foreboding swath of darkness. Six figures climbed out, each dressed most formally, as though the carpet were meant for them. They each appeared through the sheet of foliage with such deliberation, that anyone watching would have thought that was the main entrance.

The six silhouettes made their way along the grass, the waterlogged clippings clinging to their shoes. They past a clump of ilplaced rhododendrons and stepped onto the path.

One of the figures turned to the gates. 'Don't you think it would be a good idea to actually _shut _the gates?'

'No, hardly,' commented another, not bothering to turn and address the first speaker directly.

'Humph… then what was the point of killing the guards? And _why _did you have to hide the car, for Pete's sake?! It's quite obvious that—'

'_Because, _dear Eliza, there isn't exactly much gate left to _actually _shut, right?'

The first speaker inspected the clumps of wrought iron limply hanging from the brick walls. She sighed, 'I guess your right.'

'When wasn't I?'

'Shut it, Radar,' said a third figure, dragging the second speaker by the elbow.

The only sound to be heard as they trudged on further up the drive was the eerie sounds of the wind blowing through the branches of the willow.

One of the shapes – the one called 'Radar' – leaped forward suddenly, panicking. He knocked into those infront and sent the lot of them sprawling in a tangle of flailing limbs.

A wave of verbal abuse followed.

'What the blazers is wrong with you tonight?!'

'Don't you know anything?'

'Get. A. GRIP!'

All eyes turned to face this last speaker. It was a weedy figure, clad in an old vintage-styled tux with a rather unruly tweed jacket suspended systematically over his shoulders.

The first speaker, the only woman out of the two present to have spoken, merely blinked once in his direction. In the half-light of the flood lighting surrounding the mansion, the gesture was seen by the man in the tweed jacket, for his back was to the over-bright-ring-of-light.

He stared back at her, daring not to blink. Then a drop of water fell into his eye and he pawed at it in desperation, the tweed of his laughable jacket scratching and thus irritating it further.

Rader turned the attention back to himself.

'What was that?'

The third figure shrugged. 'Just the branches of the willow scratching against the car.'

Radar froze.

'What?'

The original speaker answered, 'The car. You know… it's parked under the tree…' she turned to him, 'You do know that, don't you?'

'Why then, is there no wind,' said Radar through clenched teeth. It was a fact not a question.

'Shut it! It's cold out here, right? We all want to get inside out of this storm, right?' the woman hissed between _her_ teeth, 'And if you don't shut it then I might just throttle you!'

'Look, _sorry, _but—'

The second woman suddenly rounded on him. Her hair whipped around her head to slap Radar in the face as she turned it to better abuse him.

'What were you doing? You're almost as bad as Jett—'

The bloke in the tweed jacket took offence. 'Hey!'

'—when you do that! _Seriously!_ Men! How hard is it?!' She rapped Radar on the head with her sparkly pink stiletto. The sound of metal clanged through the darkness as the secret blade clapped against the base of the shoe.

Radar cringed. 'Ouch! Okay, Okay! Stop it!'

The resonating ring soon died as she 'stopped it', the result of her repeated thumping growing into a great welt on the base of Radar's hairline.

Jett laughed, commenting on the effect with a placid, 'Suits you,' before collapsing under the combined weight of the other five.

'That was pointless,' said the sixth shape in the darkness, untangling himself from the fray. He stood, adjusting his shirt as he did so. 'Now you all look like blithering children.'

Obediently the others followed suit, Jett wiping his nose on the cuff of his tweed jacket, which only made matters worse.

They made their way again to the light surrounding the mansion, stopping short of the ring to readjust their appearances. These had dwindled some what during their trip.

The woman with the stiletto's marched forward in to the light.

'Ali!'

'What are you—?'

She snorted, hands flying to rest on her hips defiantly. '_What?!' _She glowered mockingly, the pink glitter on her dress reflecting in the light, sending off a small disco of pink glitter on to the walls and clothing of her companions. 'Afraid of a little light?'

'No! It's just—', started Jett, finicking.

'Jett just doesn't want anyone to see him in his _lovely _vintage outfit,' teased the first woman.

'Verity! I am not!'

Verity only giggled. 'If you keep insisting, then there must be something wrong. We all know you too well, _Jett.'_

'Yeah, but—'

'No 'but's, Jett. This was meant to be done over an hour ago,' said the third speaker. His eyes flashed in the pink disco-light. He sounded tired, almost bored. Rather nonplussed at the prospect of still standing in the dreary darkness when lit up shelter was only a step away. He entered the light.

Jett screamed, 'BUT I THINK I'M ALERGIC TO TWEED MATERIAL!!!'

As usual, no one believed him.

'Uh, like we'd fall for that one.'

'How long did it take for you to come up with _that_ anyway?'

'Why the hell are you wearing it, then?!' Screamed Ali, who comes in only 'highly-strung', with little variety.

Jett would have replied, if only the heavy oak double doors hadn't opened at that particular moment. The hinges groaned as the door swung inwards, revealing the shinny polished surfaces beyond.

For several dull moments, the six shapes stood there in a pool of light, which had overrode the flood lighting and seemed to fill the entire front 'garden' and partially the world beyond.

A little frail voice intoned from somewhere within the source of light.

'Enter… my sweets…' the voice was so old and wispy, even the ghastly rhododendrons seemed to wilt. The husky voice continued to drone. 'Pat-er-ick… oh, Pat-er-ick… do lend us a hand…'

The sound of an old lady entered a sweet tone as the bent figure of the old woman crawled out into the light with the aid of a cane. She clung to the arm of a butler with her free hand, exerting such force and determination that the whites of her knuckles were clearly visible. The woman wore a faded pink woollen shawl around her shoulders, the colour almost washed out completely.

'…Probably the light,' whispered Jett, leaning over to twitter in Verity's ear.

She shushed him, waving in his general direction.

The old lady reacted to the sound of voices on her porch.

'What's that Patrick?' She chirped, straightening. For an old croon, she still had some life left in her, as her transformation revealed. Her voice had gotten sharp, and she brandished her cane in the general direction of Jett's face. He had the strange vision of a preying mantis.

Her eyes were _huge!_ But that's not all he noticed.

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The official 'first-chapter' is coming… just not right _now_. One can never be sure…

Sorry for the pun too – haha, I know there's sort of one in there, but for the life of me, I can't seem to find it again… perhaps it never existed O.o

…Critical as the virtual world may be, there are more than first meats the eye…


End file.
